Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room.
Shall we, because we walk on our hind feet, assume to ourselves only the privilege of imperishability?
Dogs have a way of finding the people who need them, Filling an emptiness we don't even know we have.
He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion. Our dogs will love and admire the meanest of us, and feed our colossal vanity with their uncritical homage.
I guess you don't really own a dog, you rent them, and you have to be thankful that you had a long lease.
To call him a dog hardly seems to do him justice, though inasmuch as he had four legs, a tail, and barked, I admit he was, to all outward appearances. But to those who knew him well, he was a perfect gentleman.
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
A good dog never dies. He always stays. He walks besides you on crisp autumn days when frost is on the fields and winter's drawing near. His head is within our hand in his old way.
Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent.
A good dog never dies.
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